Forced to Act out a Strange Script with a Rival - Chapter 83

Li Ting hailed from a quintessential intellectual family. Both her parents were professors at prestigious universities—disciplined, decorous, and rigorous. Her home was permeated with a sense of restrained scholarly atmosphere and order.

As an only child, she had been enveloped in a strict set of upbringing norms since childhood.

As the saying goes, “every family has its own difficult sutra to read,” and there are no perfect families in the world. However, her home felt less like a family and more like a highly efficient, small-scale academic community. Conversations at the dinner table revolved around cutting-edge research topics and academic ethics; between the light clinking of bowls and chopsticks, what was exchanged was polite yet detached concern.

For most of the time, in Li Ting’s memory, they were more like three scholars adhering to etiquette who happened to dine at the same table—respecting each other’s space and silence, with warm intimacy rarely flowing between them.

Perhaps it is under extreme restraint that the most abundant emotions are born.

When Li Ting was in her teens and decided to plunge into the flickering world of show business—a move that bordered on a rebellion against her family trajectory—she had anticipated numerous obstacles.

However, her parents’ reaction was unexpected.

They did not scold her for acting on a childhood whim. Instead, they invited her into the study for a two-hour, adult-style dialogue between equals.

During this process, they listened earnestly to her thoughts and analyzed the pros and cons. Out of love and respect, they ultimately gave her their unreserved support.

In that moment, what Li Ting felt was not indulgence, but a solemn recognition of her independent personality. For the first time, she felt that perhaps her parents didn’t lack love for her; they simply expressed it differently than conventional families.

It was precisely this upbringing that caused Li Ting to mature prematurely, possessing a level of calmness and objectivity completely absent in her peers.

One could say that Li Ting’s major life decisions—everything, essentially—were choices she made proactively.

This included choosing her first talent agency.

After being selected as a “Yan Girl” (a muse for Director Yan), no small number of large companies extended olive branches to her.

However, a distant relative named Xu Fang appeared at the opportune moment, approaching Li Ting with a seemingly simple enthusiasm and the guarantee of being “family.”

Perhaps it was a subconscious trust in blood relations, or perhaps a faint dread of the complex ecosystems within large corporations, but Li Ting declined all other offers and resolutely signed with the obscure, “small-workshop” agency Xu Fang was affiliated with.

Xu Fang, naturally, became her manager.

That period coincided with the most sensitive phase of adolescence. Her parents were often absent due to the demands of their academic research; while they granted her unparalleled respect and autonomy, they also withdrew the nuanced emotional companionship she needed.

It was at this time that Xu Fang forcefully intervened in her life with a posture of meticulous care.

From something as small as a cold pill or a glass of hot milk late at night, to the logistical arrangements of every audition and the handling of every public relations storm—Xu Fang took care of everything personally. She wove “concern” into a dense, airtight web.

The young Li Ting found it almost impossible to resist projecting her deep-seated longing for maternal affection and dependence onto Xu Fang.

She greedily drank in this rare, tangible warmth, mistaking control for care and dependence for trust.

However, Xu Fang was no benevolent soul.

She possessed a twisted talent for emotional manipulation and PUA (Pick-Up Artist/Psychological Manipulation), as if she were self-taught in the craft.

Initially, she would infinitely, repeatedly, and tirelessly amplify every bit of her own effort. No matter how trivial, every act was portrayed as a world-shaking sacrifice.

She would pinch her voice to sound exhausted and, in the car after finishing work late at night, whisper to the drowsy Li Ting: “Ting-ting, for your sake, do you know how many people I’ve begged? How much attitude I’ve had to endure? You can’t let me down.”

She never directly demanded repayment, yet she used these rambling “histories of hardship” to soak Li Ting in an inescapable, heavy sense of “indebtedness” and “guilt.” It was as if every breath of air Li Ting took was owed to Xu Fang’s immense kindness.

The young girl was suffocated by the weight of this “heavy” love; she could only work harder to satisfy Xu Fang’s every demand, attempting to repay a debt of gratitude that could never be filled.

Later, Xu Fang began to systematically isolate Li Ting.

Under the guise of “protection,” she scrutinized everyone around Li Ting.

When Si Xiaoxiao—who was like a warm little sun with a heart so pure you could see to the bottom at a glance—approached Li Ting with unreserved passion, trying to use her clumsy sincerity to dispel the gloom between Li Ting’s brows, Xu Fang dismissed her as “calculating, just trying to use you to climb up.”

Director Yan, who treated her with genuine sincerity and unreservedly taught her acting techniques, was similarly defined as “having ulterior motives, someone to be wary of.”

Even the occasional long-distance calls of concern from Li Ting’s parents were cleverly intercepted and transformed into the indoctrinated belief: “See? Only I am truly by your side, always thinking of your best interests.”

In this way, bit by bit, she eroded all of Li Ting’s connection points with the outside world, completely isolating her into an island of information and emotion—with Xu Fang herself as the island’s sole guardian.

In the rules constructed by Xu Fang, Li Ting didn’t need any independent social life or any hobbies outside of work. She only needed to be like an obedient, high-efficiency chess piece—continuously acting, taking advertisements, and making money.

Xu Fang was an expert at using “soft knives” that drew no blood, day after day, persistently belittling and grinding down Li Ting’s self-perception. Her rhetoric was sophisticated and venomous; she always knew how to deliver a “gentle” blow precisely when Li Ting achieved a small success or showed a fleeting spark of self-confidence.

She would always say things like:

“If it weren’t for me, would you be where you are today?”

“Your personality is too dull; I’m the only one with the patience to lead you.”

“The world outside is very complicated; you can’t handle it at all. Just follow my arrangements obediently.”

Only when she became Xun Ye—becoming that omnipotent character in the play, becoming Sister Xiaoxiao’s most important partner—did Li Ting find a moment of respite.

Beneath the lens of the camera, she could temporarily forget the cage woven by Xu Fang and immerse herself in another, more exhilarating life.

Si Xiaoxiao’s cloudless trust and dependence were like a faint yet real beam of light, shining into Li Ting’s increasingly cramped inner world. The unspoken understanding between them—the support that could be conveyed with a single glance—was the only remaining, precious color in Li Ting’s gray existence. She greedily drank in this warmth, like a dying person clutching at a life-saving straw.

But Xu Fang was unwilling to leave Li Ting with even this single beam of light.

During the latter stages of filming, Xu Fang keenly sensed that Si Xiaoxiao was occupying an increasingly vital position in Li Ting’s heart; it was an emotional bond that exceeded her control. This triggered an unprecedented sense of threat and jealousy within her.

Consequently, she used every possible means and maneuver to sow discord between them. Leveraging her position as a manager, she spread rumors about Si Xiaoxiao, snatched her resources, and even resorted to far more sinister tactics.

On one hand, she sought to maintain her control over Li Ting; on the other, she sought to crush a competitor.

This distorted relationship eventually planted deep-seated pathological roots in Li Ting’s heart: an indelible fear of trust, and a contradictory struggle—a simultaneous longing for and resistance to intimacy.

It wasn’t until Li Ting truly lost her most important friend, her dearest teacher, and even her own sense of self, that she began to resist acting. She started locking herself away in small, dark rooms. She lost her title as a “super rookie,” and with it, her utility to others.

Xu Fang finally revealed the full extent of her human depravity. It was only when blood spurted from her wrists, as she hovered on the brink of death, that Li Ting finally saw her for who she was. With a determination to “burn the jade with the stone”—to destroy everything if necessary—she finally broke free from Xu Fang’s control.

As the price for her misplaced trust, Li Ting paid an exorbitant contract termination fee.

However, during her most lost moments, her parents still provided her with trust and respect. They did not blame her for her poor judgment of character; they simply found ways to help her resolve the lingering threats.

Nevertheless, straying onto the wrong path always exacts a price—not just financially, but in terms of interpersonal relationships and psychological well-being.

Li Ting fell seriously ill. Under her doctor’s advice, she began writing songs. Her condition gradually improved, but she remained repulsed by the idea of acting.

Therefore, when Li Ting’s second manager, Gao Mengya, received the message that she wanted to “snatch” a certain role, her first reaction was, naturally, one of shock.

Having learned from her past experience, Li Ting did not allow Gao Mengya to involve herself too deeply in her personal life. Gao Mengya, in turn, liked that Li Ting was a singer with clear self-planning who released songs on schedule and in consistent volume every year.

The cooperation between the two could be described as quite pleasant. Coupled with the special instructions of care from Li Ting’s parents, Li Ting enjoyed a significant amount of freedom.

Although Gao Mengya still felt it was a pity that Li Ting didn’t act, people are ultimately more important than money, and she consistently respected Li Ting’s choices.

This was the first time Li Ting had proactively suggested taking on a role.

What was it that caused her to change?

Gao Mengya was naturally happy to see her artist expand her career and didn’t pry. She used her connections to look into the resource, only to immediately discover something was amiss: Why was this role originally slated for Si Xiaoxiao?

Would stealing a resource from someone under Yan Guan’s thumb really not trigger retaliation from that vengeful woman?

But at the thought of the pain Li Ting had suffered for so many years, tormented by psychological illness, Gao Mengya made up her mind instantly.

Forget it. It didn’t matter. Let her retaliate if she wanted to; as long as her artist wanted it, she was going to get it for her!

Because of the artists under them—and even between their respective companies—they were in a state of absolute competition.

Consequently, the relationship between Gao Mengya and Yan Guan was naturally like fire and water.

Unlike Yan Guan, Gao Mengya came from a traditional, professional background and looked down on Yan Guan immensely.

Previously, because Li Ting didn’t want to act, that “damned vase” (a term for a talentless but beautiful actress) had sucked so much of her blood for free, even dragging her out for “CP marketing” (shipping them as a couple), which had significantly damaged Li Ting’s reputation with the public. This time, justice could finally be served.

Moreover, Li Ting had recently appeared on an acting variety show, and anyone with eyes could see that her acting skills were excellent. Therefore, “snatching” a role wasn’t difficult at all.

With a few casual maneuvers from Gao Mengya, the role was easily secured.

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